an unobstructed view

crazy woman

The images of 9/11 were still raw. Bodies dropping out of buildings. Faces powdered in ash. Even when they opened the airports, no one traveled for pleasure. Who could remember pleasure?

But two months later, I found myself at an empty ticket counter. As I made my way to the concourse, my footsteps echoed. Usually the airport in Miami was filled with all sorts of lunatics. People lugging refrigerators back to third world countries. Drug smugglers who cellophaned their suitcases thinking it would keep out the dogs. Now there was no one but me.

New airline restrictions were in place. Passengers were told to dump their coffees and their diet cokes into wastepaper baskets. People in official looking uniforms suspected a bomb in every tote. If your complexion was dark and you spoke with a funny accent, they pulled you aside.

But I was the one they picked a fight with. Nine weeks earlier, my daughter had left for college in upstate New York. It was the longest we had ever been separated. All mothers say they love their daughters, but we're particularly close. And when I connected the dots, the long pauses during phone calls, the rambling emails, I knew it was time for a visit.

I admit I hovered. Rachel had been diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome before it became the diagnosis du jour. What came easy for most people came hard for her. She filled her days with books and pets. And now her best friends—two dogs and a guinea pig –were at home with me.

"It's an ecosphere," I told the Metal Detector Lady. The ball was the size of a snow globe and filled with liquid. I held it close to my eye and tapped the glass. "Look," I said, "it's filled with shrimp. Shrimp the size of eyelashes. If I put them through the X-rays, they'll be nuked."

The Metal Detector Lady scratched her chin. She was big and mean and underpaid. "You either put it on the conveyor belt," she said, "or you put it in the trash."

Then someone else stepped into my body. A crazy woman. A crazy woman who watched people plunge from the sky. A crazy woman who sent her daughter 1,500 miles away. "I can't do that," I said. "God knows what goes on in those machines. I don't even want to put my toothpaste in those machines. And I'm sure as hell not going to fry these shrimp."

She looked at me like I was nuts. Hands on her hips, she scrunched her eyes and was probably thinking this day can't end fast enough. Jesus give me the strength not to kill this crazy woman.

But the person inside me could not be contained. "My daughter can't have a pet in the dorm," I tried to explain. "So I'm bringing her these shrimp. She's really looking forward to these shrimp. Trust me," I said. "She'll be really disappointed if they're dead."

The Metal Detector Lady grabbed my elbow and led me to a holding area on the side. There were about twenty Cuban men and me.

Now I grew up on movies like The French Connection and Serpico—not to mention my all-time favorite The Great Escape. I have a healthy disrespect for authority. If they wanted me to play this role, I was more than happy to oblige.

A Transportation Security Administrator ambled my way. The guy was tall, stooped, and around eighty years old. He had a gun swinging from a belt and pointed his finger right at my face.

"I hear y'awl being difficult." The "Miamah” accent was unmistakable. The guy was right out of Cool Hand Luke. "Do you wahhnt to miss yaw flight?"

"I'mmm not giving up the ecosphere," I stammered.

"What did you say?"

I noticed there were hearing aids in both ears so I leaned closer and channeled hard-boiled eggs and disassembled parking meters. Then I shouted each word. "I'm not putting my shrimp in the machine!"

He sucked in some air and took a step back. Then he waved another guy over.

This guy was a whole other story. A crew-cut plus a face as flat as a runway. A brick wall kind of guy. Just one look at him and I knew my options were up.

The words spewed out. "You see," I said, "my daughter's a remarkable person and God knows how she's doing it, but she's on her own, and it's been a huge transition for both of us... okay it's been a huge transition for me."

I glanced around. There were FBI Wanted Photos pasted on a wall. The Ayatollah looked like the guy who cut my grass, and the guy who cut my grass looked like a terrorist. Evil was everywhere and nowhere while redemption could fit in the palm of your hand. I held out the ecosphere.

"What I'm trying to say is that we've lost control. It's like the Earth's been thrown off its axis, and we're free-falling through space. Arms up. Legs splayed. Chin out. It's up to us to save the world," I told him. "Okay maybe it's up to me the save the world. One shrimp at a time."

I was a mess, hiccupping sobs and wiping snot from the bottom of my nose. Seconds trudged by. Finally he nodded his head. "Let's take a look at the globe."

I handed it over. Then he motioned me through the metal detector. Whispering in the Transportation Security Administrator's ear, he handed him the ecosphere. Then the old man limp-walked towards the Metal Detector Lady. He gestured in my direction and gave the ecosphere to her.

"It doesn't have to be this difficult," she said.

She dropped the ecosphere into my purse and helped me gather up my stuff. I had two flights and two hours of driving to go. "It only counts," I told her, "if it is."

Marlene Olin's stories have been published in over thirty-five online and print journals. Born in Brooklyn and raised in Miami, she attended the University of Michigan. Marlene presently lives in Coconut Grove, Florida with her husband. She has two children and two grandchildren. She recently compiled a collection of her stories and finished her first novel. Her Twitter handle is @writestuffmiami

For more work by Marlene Olin, check out her page at our Online Sundries site.

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